


The Roles We Play

by lakeshelby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Partners, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Multi, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakeshelby/pseuds/lakeshelby
Summary: Yes, the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. Actually, Hermione's life would be much easier if it was.After a year working as an Auror together with Draco Malfoy, Hermione can't say she didn't expect half the grief he gave her. But she certainly didn't expect that having him as a partner would also threaten the very core of her five-year relationship.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	1. The Know-It-All

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in a long time. I would love any and all constructive feedback.
> 
> Update: @rhysenne is being an amazing beta for this fic and helping this ESL writer - thank you so much!

**23rd February, 2003**

You have to understand, under all her bookish intelligence and pragmatism, Hermione was quite a secret romantic. Not in a “planning her wedding since age six” kind of way, or pretending she was Barbie and her future husband was Ken while making them kiss in her plastic doll house. She didn’t care about things like that. She was happy to say patriarchal conventions had bored her since as early as she could remember. 

But she was an idealist. She _was_ a Gryffindor, after all.

So yes, she believed in the power of love and how relationships should be meaningful and all that. 

She always quietly wished she would live a great love story. That she would be swept off her feet when she was least expecting by a person who would fog all of her senses and make everything bad that happened before feel smaller but also necessary. Because all of it would have led her to that moment and that person.

Total and complete nonsense, of course. It was all those classic romance novels her parents gave her to read, she was sure.

Anyway, fate clearly had different plans for her. And reality was not bad at all, she told herself. She had slowly fallen in love with her best friend of seven years. After winning a war against a dark wizard, no less. Pretty damn romantic if you ask anyone, right?

Then why was she feeling like this? Like there was something she couldn't quite let go? Some strange need to experience a different kind of love. A different kind of life. 

It wasn’t that she didn't love Ron; he was her best friend, and pretty much the nicest guy she knew. He was great with kids, loved her, loved his family. But maybe it was the fact that after telling someone to clean up after themselves ten times a day for five years, you kind of end up feeling like their mother. (And believe me, Molly Weasley was enough of a mother as anyone would ever need.) 

This made her wish she could close that version of her life like a book, bookmark it and open up a new one—all fresh and exciting. Just to take a peek.

Being an Auror felt like that sometimes. When she solved a case, she felt more alive than she had in years. Until that day in the Manor, when _Draco Malfoy_ of all people had told her what he thought of her, how he saw her and how she made him feel. His words had lit a fire in her soul, and she didn't know what to do with it. She just knew that, dammit, her thirteen-year-old self asked for it.

**15th June, 2000**

Ron and Hermione had moved to London together after two years of dating, two years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Their relationship was stable and very much conflict-free, aside from the usual banter that was the main fuel of their sex life. There were some tensions here and there, mostly because of how tense and uptight she could be and how much of a slob and momma's boy Ronald was. But at twenty years old, they were very happy with each other and this new and exciting phase in their lives.

That autumn, Hermione had announced that she would begin Auror training and planned to join the force alongside Harry, while Ron was already thriving as George’s partner in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Everyone expected Hermione to go into academics or a desk job career at the Ministry. That was what made her even more thrilled to start in the Academy. She was a war heroine, for Merlin's sake. It had been about time people started thinking of her as more than just a little know-it-all...

And of course, she had rational reasons as well. You see, they were twofold:

  1. The number of women Aurors was still significantly smaller than men (something like a 4:1 ratio), and as a feminist, she felt she was almost obligated to break that stereotype.
  2. An Auror career was perfectly outlined in her nineteen-year plan to be elected as Minister of Magic in 2019. It would give her the credibility and experience she needed to have a hard stance against Dark Magic of all kinds.



She would later graduate from Auror training with honors, obviously, and Ron and Harry would be supportive through it all. Never making her feel like she was in over her head, or anything like that. Except for the first time she told them about her decision:

"I mean, you do know it's not just tricky spells and smart planning, right Hermione? Auror work can be physically very dangerous.” 

"And you don't think I can handle 'dangerous'?"

They both glanced at her left forearm, where the very visible _“mudblood”_ scar was, the one Hermione made zero effort to hide.

"Don't get me wrong; you are the most talented witch I know. I just always assumed—"

"Thank you for your concern, Harry." She had tried and failed to hide her annoyance. "But maybe that's the problem. I am tired of people assuming things about me." Ron had been quietly looking sideways during the whole conversation, having already lost his own argument.

"And if I am as talented as you say, then I don't see why you wouldn't want me by your side to fight dark magic and dark wizards..." She breathed out the last sentence with a huff. "It's the most meaningful work I can think of doing right now. I want to see a wizarding world better than the one we grew up in."

If her future children couldn't go to Hogwarts without being terrified of being bullied (or worse) just because their mother was a… muggleborn. she didn't see the point of planning to build a life in this world at all. They had defeated Voldemort, and there was a common sense of bliss and relief in the air, but the three of them were smarter than that. They knew fighting darkness was like fighting something unfixed, mutating and indestructible. It was a constant battle and it would never go away quietly, so they just had to do their best to keep nipping it all in the bud.

"Of course I want you by my side; that's the whole point! I want you to be safe!" Harry seemed offended, which started to enrage her just a tiny little bit.

Suddenly he seemed to realise something, and got the look in his eyes Hermione most hated: pity. "Are you sure this isn't all just because of your parents?"

She was so done with this argument. "Don't be foolish, Harry. My parents are fine." 

As Harry opened his mouth to say something else, she blurted, "You know what I think? Maybe you just feel that _you_ are more entitled to put your life on the line for what you believe than I am." That struck a nerve. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is it because I'm a woman?" Now Ron seemed to want to drown himself in his butterbeer glass.

"I—Of course not!" He seemed to realize how patronising he was acting. "Merlin, Hermione, obviously it's your life and your choice! I would never—" He reached out for her hand over the pub's table.

"Well then, can we just leave it?" she asked, and Harry nodded. They all took a few breaths, and she tried to calm herself down. "I'm sorry, it's just—this is something I feel very strongly about, and I'm not changing my mind. So I would appreciate your support—both of you." 

After a silent beat, Harry shyly blurted, "Done." Ron gave her a side hug that said _"He's just worried, Mione, and so am I. But we respect your choice"_ , and that was good enough for her. 

She did love how easygoing her boyfriend was. It made all the confrontation that she managed to constantly attract a little easier to handle. "So, tell us about training, Harry. Nearly finished, yeah?" Ron went in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Yeah. It's been great... it's a lot of work, though!" Harry gave a tired sigh and looked down at his hands, like he had so many times over the years when they used to discuss Voldemort. "It's like they expect me to know everything just because I am 'The Chosen One', or whatever." The other two exchanged a knowing glance; Harry could be quite dramatic.

"Plus, Dawlish really grinds us about the duels. We have to get fifty consecutive wins everyday or it's back to zero. And I got paired up with Malfoy of all people, so—"

Ron jumped: "Malfoy is an Auror in-training? Wh—How the bloody hell did that happen?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. It had been all over the _Prophet_ about a year ago; Ron just never bothered to keep up with the news. Rita Skeeter had written numerous articles about how Draco Malfoy made a deal with the Ministry: he would exchange information about his parents for a pardon and a chance to apply for Auror Academy. 

Nobody believed he would go through with it, but he did. And now, not only were Lucius and Narcissa set to go to trial, but Draco had been very infamously disinherited from the Malfoy fortune and started his training alongside Harry Potter of all people. 

It would be quite impressive if not entirely suspicious. Both Harry and Hermione didn't buy it. They agreed that this was, at most, an elaborate plan thought out by Lucius to regain credibility for their family name, or at the very least a silly tantrum that Malfoy maybe took too far.

"Yeah, it seems like he is legit." Harry murmured quickly, "And actually, he's quite good! An annoying git, of course, but I think he will be a vital wand for us at the force." 

What. 

"I beg your pardon? Are you complimenting his wand skills?" 

Honestly, Hermione was sorry to admit that it was a wonder how these two hadn't got themselves killed during the war. A bloody wonder. 

The one thing you could rely on Harry Potter to do was to be paranoid about whatever Draco Malfoy was doing. But apparently, not anymore.

"What about keeping tabs on him to find what he's on about, like we agreed?" 

"I have been! I just—it's complicated, Hermione. When you get through your own training..." He gave her a pointed look like _see, I'm already fine with it_.

"...you'll understand, there are some things that we experience that really leave no question about where loyalties lie." 

She didn't believe that for a second. She knew there was something else Harry wasn't telling, and she was honestly scared for his sanity.

"And amazing as it seems, Malfoy's as much of a reformed Death Eater as they come. Which makes him, you know, just a _little_ more shitty than the rest of us."

So unfortunately, it seemed Auror training had left even the famous Harry Potter so tired he was temporarily insane. 

**July 1st, 2001**

For as much as Harry made a big deal about it, Hermione's time in the Academy actually went very smoothly, all things considered. It was still school after all, just with less books and more defensive spells and physical activity. Which, granted, was a challenge, but she had asked for it. 

The Academy was coordinated by three senior Aurors: Dawlish, Proudfoot and Savage. None of them pleasant or necessarily nice people, but very talented wizards who fought for the good side and seemed to have their moral compasses in check. 

Other than being trained in magical battles and fighting lessons, the Academy also had interesting soft skills training. Aurors were expected to do undercover tasks, so emotional intelligence and quick thinking under pressure were very valued abilities. They also were allowed by the Ministry to use special magic tools outlawed for common wizards, things that muggles would call espionage technology gadgets, or James Bond-inspired tools. Only, you know, these were magic.

Aurors in training were also expected to gain specialisations on Dark Arts topics, such as Potions, Charms, Creatures, Artefacts and even Dark Magic History. Unfortunately, you see, one of the biggest mistakes wizardkind had made in the fight against evil was to ignore their own history and repeat past mistakes. Hermione, of course, took classes in all of the topics, but officially had specialised in Dark Potions.

The training was intense and rewarding, and Hermione was glad to put all of her pent-up energy into other outlets than just her mind.

She got more physically fit and strong, which Ronald also found very interesting, but for different reasons.

Now she was done with training and she felt tired in the best way possible. This was what she had wanted when she made her decision. A sense of control, of strength, of never being subjected to anybody's views around how pure her magic blood was or wasn't.

> _“Mudblood.”_

It was almost like a shield for her, the scar. A reminder of how much she could take, and how even the most horrible things ended if you fought against them with all of your will. Nobody else understood that, but for now, for a still traumatised post-war Hermione, that scar was her armour and that was okay.

"Oi Granger, daydreaming about your boyfriend again or somethin'? We have to go, hun." A female voice came up behind her while she was looking out the window. In ten minutes, she would open her class's Auror graduation ceremony. 

"Just preparing for my speech, Katie. Give me two minutes, okay?"

Yep, Katie Bell was her colleague at Auror training. As well as Seamus and Neville. Who could expect so many Gryffindors wanted to save the world? Just kidding, everyone did.

Katie herself had a prior career in Quidditch. She had been a Chaser for The Harpies for two years before deciding to quit. On their first day, Katie introduced herself by saying she was sick of putting all of her energy into getting a ball inside a "bloody wooden loop," and just like that, Hermione knew. They were kindred spirits in their search for purpose and fulfillment in this weird post-war world.

A strong friendship bond grew very easily between the two Gryffindors. Katie had an effortless strength and confidence about her. She made no apologies for who she was, and that was exactly what Hermione craved for herself. They grew closer by supporting each other against any prejudice or disdain from their male colleagues and trainers.

You would think the magical world would be better at sexist prejudice, what with all the magical blood purity being the main issue. But it wasn't. And especially for witches who dared to succeed in male-dominated fields. And succeed they did. They were first and second in their class by a landslide, the only two women out of eight Auror trainees. Oh well. They had more important issues to care than bruised male egos.

"It’s brilliant; you know that. Don't be tiresome, and let's go! I’ve had enough of bloody schools."

This was why they were different. Hermione knew school, was good at school, be it Hogwarts or the Academy. Being the know-it-all student for so long gave her a sense of safety. It was who she was, the role she was most prepared to play. And now she was done, and it was scary as hell. But then, she had asked for unknown danger that would force her out of her comfort zone. So she might as well get bloody to it.

\---

"Hear hear to my brilliant Auror girlfriend!" Ron raised a toast in her direction later that day when they celebrated at The Burrow with fellow Gryffindor graduates, friends and family. "Graduated with honors, of course!"

"Don't have to wonder who's the pants in the relationship, ay Ron?" George teased his brother in that weird way men thought was funny.

Hermione gave Ron a quick kiss and drank her celebratory firewhiskey shot. 

"Can't believe we'll be working together in no time, Hermione." Harry approached her gleefully with Ginny around his arm. They were in a weird phase in which they claimed to be taking things slow but were never—ever—not touching each other. "How are you feeling about your first day?" her redheaded friend asked.

"I feel so scared, actually! It's a whole different thing to face real cases, I would imagine. I just hope I make the Academy proud and not make any too terrible mistakes." She felt herself venting more than she planned to.

"Nonsense, you'll be brilliant," Harry assured her with a quick push on her arm. "The first few days are a bit unnerving; it's natural! And I'll be there for you!"

"Be careful not to overwork, though! Can't ever seem to get this one out of the Ministry in decent hours." Ginny nodded in Harry's direction and laughed a little too much.

"Tell us the department gossip, Potter," Katie asked after joining them. "We want to be ready to meet our future coworkers, you know."

Harry laughed and started, already knowing what she meant. "What do you want to know, Katie?" "Oh, just anything useful—maybe, I don't know, any former Death Eaters plotting murder and revenge against childhood colleagues?"

The begrudging respect Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had grown for each other had become a news story of its own about now. And surprisingly, Harry was the more criticised party in that affair. The public opinion was that he was just too soft on crime, and maybe he shouldn't be an Auror after all. Honestly, the nerve of people. How fast did they forget that the man had saved the bloody wizarding world more times than anybody could count? 

But as much as Hermione felt bad for Harry, she still didn't get it. She had pushed for more information ever since that day and couldn't understand what could possibly drive him to make such a weird judgement call. But she did trust him with her life, so apparently Draco Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater anymore—or something. That did not mean he was better as a person or worthy of any trust. And she definitely didn't plan to be any more friendly to him in the Auror Office than he had been to her during their Hogwarts years.

It wouldn't be until one year later that she would learn about what made Harry trust Draco's intentions.

And it would be two years later when she would realise she had fallen in love with an ex-Death Eater, her former school bully and just the all-around annoying little shit that was Draco Malfoy.

But yeah, there's still some way to go before we get to that.


	2. The Ex-Death Eater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Draco Malfoy ended up as an auror working alongside Harry Potter and Hermione Granger of all people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the idea here is we will be alternating between Hermione and Draco POV throughout the whole story. Feedback is immensely appreciated!
> 
> Update: @rhysenne is being an amazing beta for this fic and helping this ESL writer - thank you so much!

**17th July, 2001**

It was a very popular news story that Draco Malfoy, of the famous and disgraced pureblood-Death Eater family, had suddenly grown a conscience. That after the war, he had discovered a new set of morals and a thirst for justice that landed him in the Auror Office to fight bravely against everything his parents symbolised. 

It was also pure and complete horse shit.

Draco liked better the less popular rumour that he just simply changed sides when the war was over and that he had thrown his parents under the bus for good measure. It was closer to the truth, and it gave him enough credit without making him seem like a boring loser with a hero complex—the world had enough fucking Gryffindors.

Of course there was some truth in all the lies: he had turned in his father to the Ministry and he had done it gladly. But he also wasn't given much of a choice. 

He had been given an ultimatum: cooperate with investigations, or return his wand and give up on magic. Yep, no Azkaban option. Just life as a muggle for all eternity. They posed it as a merciful offer because of his age, but he knew better. What was a few years in Azkaban for him, really? That would have been the safe choice.

Draco tried to be careful and leave his mother out of it, but she was just too involved with everything Lucius did. The Malfoy Manor had been Voldemort's headquarters. for Merlin's sake. It wasn’t like Narcissa had expected to just walk free. 

His father was less reasonable. He knew from the moment he gave up information over to the Ministry that Lucius would find a way to disown him. When Kingsley Shacklebolt informed him that his deal only stood if he agreed to work for the Ministry for as long as they deemed fit, he just asked how much they would pay him.

Much to everyone's surprise and discomfort, he asked to be put in the Auror Department. He did it mostly out of spite, not actually expecting them to comply.

But the idea of being an Auror was ironically fitting. You know what happens to a Slytherin when they lose all sense of self preservation, right? It's like watching a fish out of water—except it never fucking died. That was Draco's life. 

The war had left him hollow of any wish to live a real life, to have dreams and goals. That ship had sailed, and he was honestly glad that all he could feel was nothing. Maybe being an Auror would allow him to blow shit up and go down fighting, if he would be so lucky. (He was not.)

So, no. No morals, no thirst for justice. Just a depressed man who had seen everything he knew about his life disappear. First slowly, and then all at once. There was nothing left for him except getting by with what he could while he was still around.

\---

And now here he was, two years later. Working for the Ministry as a bloody Auror without two galleons to rub together and sharing a small apartment with Blaise Zabini in Central London.

His parents’ trial still hadn't happened; they kept pushing it forward for some reason. Maybe the Ministry didn't see the point, as they were already in Azkaban. Draco really didn't have the energy to try to understand the legal details; he just wished his mother had a shot at a shorter sentence.

Auror training had come and gone, and he hated every minute of it. Well, most of them, at least. Of course Harry Potter would be there. Draco had expected it; he wasn't bloody stupid. What other career would the git choose to still get the attention he so desperately needed? 

Scarhead had managed to wait one full day of classes before catching up with him outside of the Ministry. "Why are you here, Malfoy?" Draco never stopped walking. "None of your business, Potter."

If Draco felt anything, maybe he would have regretted his choice. Especially during those first weeks of training when he saw the look of pure disdain everyone gave him, from colleagues to trainers. All those bloody Gryffindors on their high horses. Nobody trusted him. He’d even considered changing his name or dying his hair black to not have to deal with anymore of that. Merlin, how much more tragic could his life get?

The only people left in his life were his friends, all three of them. Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass had managed to recover pretty quickly after the war, never having been directly involved with the whole Voldemort shit show. The Ministry left them alone, and they quickly found good jobs in the Muggle financial market. Not that they needed money; they weren't the ones disowned by their parents. 

And then there was Theo… Ah, how does one even begin to describe Theo Nott? 

Let's just say that when they hung out, Draco felt like a bloody rainbow unicorn in comparison. The man was knee-deep in issues of all kinds: family, crime, alcohol, money, dark magic. For the Notts (and the Malfoys, actually), all these things did always come hand in hand. But he hadn't been on the Ministry's radar like Draco had, mainly because Nott Sr. was presumed dead and there were other priorities.

The four of them got closer as Blaise and Draco decided to share a flat - with Zabini covering most of the expenses, and Malfoy feeling like scum of the earth because of it. And of course, where Blaise went, Daphne followed. They had been best friends their whole lives and were inseparable. She rented a place nearby, and they had even started working for the same firm. Something about merging and buying things... Draco found it extremely boring.

In Theo's case, he could not move out of Nott Manor because of his sick mother. But he stayed at the boy's apartment whenever he wanted to escape—which was basically all the time.

Draco and Theo had gone through a lot of the same things. They chose different paths during and after the war, but both of them felt the weight of that mark on their left forearms. The weight of their fathers’ mistakes. The weight of all the unnecessary deaths and bloodshed.

One thing people didn't know was that there was no magic in the world that could get the dark mark out of a wizard's skin. With Voldemort's death, the ink had faded a bit, but it would never truly leave. So Draco and Theo had that bond, the bond of two young men with souls forever tainted with the horrible things they did or witnessed. What a joyous friendship, indeed.

So that was basically Draco's life three years after the war. Three friends, no money, and one lousy job where everybody hated his guts. Fucking terrible, but a hell of a lot better than being prisoner to a lunatic in his own home, while watching blood run down the walls and his parents go insane in the process. 

When a person hits so many consecutive rock bottoms like Draco had, some of them just start to feel a little more comfortable than the others.

* * *

As the months went by, things got slightly better for ex-Death-Eater-now-Auror-in-training Draco Malfoy. Keeping his head down a bit and actually not being fucking useless appeared to get him some sort of pass. Having fought in the war, even if it was for the other side, had given him experience that made his skills stand out against his classmates'. Instead of being openly rejected, now he was just ignored. 

It wasn't long until he began to actually enjoy some of the classes. Don't get it twisted, he was still a numb and sad little fucker. But he figured he should start to actually try to earn people's respect and trust. Just because it would make his life easier at this job, he had no way of getting out of it.

Potter was actually the first to give him the benefit of the doubt— _ of course  _ he would. Still, it seemed a very out-of-the-blue sort of thing. One day, he just felt the absence of all the glaring and watching and heavy breathing. Any and all exchanges they had after that day had been about the training or Auror cases. Weird. 

But hey, fuck it, whatever it was that did the trick, Draco was glad.

After he graduated with full marks, Draco had a few hard months adjusting to life as an Auror—as much of an Auror he could be with very limited opportunities to go into the field. Partly because he was fresh out of the academy, but mainly because of the whole ex-Death-Eater thing.

His status as Harry Potter's coworker had also got really out of hand in the media for some time. Bloody circus. He wouldn't be surprised if Rita Skeeter decided that he and Potter were secret lovers at some point.

But finally, after a while, things cooled down. Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet forgot about him, his coworkers got used to his dark, gloomy and somewhat efficient presence, and he was even starting to get assigned actual real cases.

So of course it was time for Hermione bloody Granger to saunter into the Auror's Office as the department's new star trainee.

Yep, that seemed like just his bloody fucking luck.


	3. The Only Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get more insight into Hermione's inner struggles over her parents and follow her as she discovers her first week as a Ministry Auror isn't quite what she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have been very excited about this story! Finally everything will start to set itself in motion as Hermione begins working as an auror. As usual, any and all constructive feedback is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Update: @rhysenne is being an amazing beta for this fic and helping this ESL writer - thank you so much!

**25th June, 1998**

Whenever Hermione was waiting for something important, she needed to keep moving. So she was walking. Focusing on the white tiles of St. Mungo's floor, trying to memorize their patterns and little defects to keep her mind busy. 

She had been pacing for hours now, her eyes already used to the bad light and weird smell of a secluded and almost empty part of the building. But she wasn't alone: Harry and Ron were sitting at a bench near her, collectively holding their breaths while following Hermione with their eyes. 

Harry was the first one to notice Augustus Pye approaching them as he quickly stood up and nudged Hermione. Augustus was an older, heavy-built man, and he wore the traditional Healer lime green jacket. He also happened to be England's main specialist in the field of memory charms—specifically, how to recover them. He had a serene expression—which was a good sign, Hermione guessed, but his eyes were careful as he approached the group looking at her.

"Can I see them? Are they awake?" Hermione stuttered while Ron put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"They are awake." 

When the war was over, Hermione and Ron went to Australia to find her parents. It wasn't an easy task to get them back to England, but she couldn't bear to use any more magic on them. Kingsley pulled some strings to help them get a Portkey, and in a spinning second, they were in the beaches of Brisbane. 

They came up with a plan to lure her parents back with a lost lottery-winning ticket that Mr. Granger had bought and conveniently forgot about. Oh, how forgetful he had been lately. Maybe he should go to the doctor in the meantime while he was in London?

And now, here Hermione was, after looking for the best possible Healer to reverse the memory charm she had cast on her parents. She was nervous, but she was confident everything would be fine. 

Voldemort was dead. Bellatrix was dead. She, Ron and Harry had done what they needed to do, and now things would fall back into place. She would have her parents back, go back to finish her last year at Hogwarts and plan her future like a normal eighteen-year-old witch.

Hermione nodded quickly. "And how are they? Do they have their memories?" 

"They are fine." Pye gave her a reassuring nod. "However, they are a little foggy. You see, the memory charm was extensive, as it was cast over all their memories of you and, being their daughter you have obviously been a big part of their lives."

Her breath stopped in her throat. 

"We can't be sure of how complete the recovery of the memories will be."

"How do you mean complete, doctor?" Harry was also quick to grasp at his careful tone. "You did say they would have their memories of Hermione back, yeah?"

"Yes, absolutely. They do have it. But you see, the brain is the most mysterious of the human organs. Specially for non magical humans, we can't be sure of how a spell and a counter-spell will affect the functioning of it. The memories are available, yes. But because of the tampering, they might feel disconnected from them. Rather like a photo album in the back of their minds. We can't be sure how quickly they will feel as they have truly lived them, or unfortunately if they will feel it at all." 

Hermione felt her heart drop. She had known this was a possibility.

"What are you saying, doctor? Can you please be more clear—" Ron shifted and huffed. 

"He's saying that they might feel disconnected from  _ me,  _ Ron," Hermione answered as she tried to keep a straight face.

Dr. Pye told her not to lose hope, as the most difficult step had been achieved—they did recover the memories. He had suggested the Grangers, all three of them, to come back to life as usual to cultivate a feeling of normalcy and stability.

**13th August, 1998**

So Hermione stayed with her parents all summer long that year to try and recover their family bond. And she had never felt more alone in her life. 

All their interactions were full of awkward silences and hesitant questions. Their memories were functioning, but they felt off, and although they tried to hide it, she could tell they resented her for it.

"So this war of yours is over now, yeah?" her mom had asked one day as the three of them had tea in the kitchen. "Maybe you should consider getting your A-levels and applying to a  _ human  _ university? I do remember you being so smart, dear." Her parents had acquired the habit of talking about her in the past, as if they were pulling memories about her from dusty files.

"It's over mom, I promise." She looked between them. She had tiptoed around the magic topic all summer long. "But you see, I'm a witch. I'm not planning on having a career in the Mug— human world. I'm actually planning to go back to Hogwarts in two weeks’ time. To properly finish my education," Hermione said carefully. 

"I can't believe you, Hermione." Mrs. Granger sighed in disappointment. "after all you and your friends went through. After all your father and I went through. Almost losing you. Almost losing ourselves, our minds. You're going back? Do you honestly think our family has any place in this weird world of yours?"

"Of course I do, mom. Again, I'm so sorry about it all. If I had any other choice… But magic can do wonderful things for us as well—"

"Well, we don't need it girl. We don't need wonderful. We just need to not lose our bloody minds again!" her mom yelled as her father put down his cup and gestured for her to calm down. Hermione went quiet. "And maybe if you can't give us that, you should just... go!"

Her mother's eyes were full of anger and distant disapproval, as if she didn't recognize her. Unfortunately, it had become quite a common look over the summer, and it was torture. Especially because her mom had always been her biggest fan and confident. Now, they were like strangers trying to find common ground and not succeeding.

"Do try to calm down, dear. This is her life and she's overage; we can't just tell her what to do." Mr. Granger had tried to intervene with very little energy while avoiding looking his daughter in the eyes. He clearly felt as scared as her mom.

After a while, Mrs. Granger took a deep breath, and her eyes softened. 

"I'm sorry, Hermione. My mind is fuzzy again." She motioned to her husband. "Can we rest a bit?"

So they both went upstairs, and Hermione was left alone with three full cups of cold tea as company.

That night, she cried herself to sleep again.

\---

During her "eight year" at Hogwarts, her parents did fall into some degree of stability, both mentally and in their relationship with their daughter, but the connection between the three of them never fully recovered. Eventually, they resolved to move back to Australia, which came as a relief for her.

As much as Hermione tried, coming back every holiday to spend time and pretend normalcy was all too painful for her. The side glances at her scar, the loaded questions, the constant, underlying fear of what she could get herself in again, of what she or someone else was capable of doing to them.

After they moved, they would speak sometimes over the phone, first rarely and briefly and eventually almost never. She had cast protective spells over their home in Brisbane and arranged for an emergency portkey—which she never used.

She hadn't lost her parents in the worst sense, but she did lose them. They would never trust her and her magic again. She didn't blame them for a second; she understood completely, and the guilt she felt slowly solidified into an unyielding hardness around the topic of her family.

It was the one final pain Voldemort's war had given her. 

Except this one would never go away. 

**17th July, 2001**

Hermione's first day as an Auror wasn't as eventful as she hoped. It was full of bureaucracies and tiresome instructions. She and her other recent graduate colleagues felt very much like their first year of Hogwarts: paraded around like fresh meat and observed by the other more experienced Aurors with a knowing look of "you don't know what you’ve gotten yourself into."

The day had started very early for her, and she was the first one to arrive at orientation. Neville got there a while after her. She felt more at ease to be with him as they chatted and waited for Dawlish and the rest of the "first years." 

Neville had also changed a lot since the war, but it suited him better than the others. He now had such a comfortable confidence about him without ever losing his softness and sensibility. He also grew into his teeth and chubby cheeks and was a very good-looking young man. He had become quite a catch, Hermione had happily realised.

During Auror training, Neville had grown close to her and Katie. She was almost certain that he had developed a crush on her best friend. But as much as he was now a more mature and confident man, Hermione suspected that this change hadn't extended itself to his love life yet. So she kept quiet and respected his privacy. 

Katie was oblivious, of course. She liked Neville just fine as a friend. But she probably hadn't even thought of him in that way. She was always going on and on about all the people she slept with. They never had names; they were always "the cute boy from the cafe" or "the hot girl from Flourish and Blotts". She was a bit of a "player," and Hermione loved how different her life was from her own. It seemed exciting to be so open to possibilities regarding love.

When the room was full and buzzing with expectation, Dawlish arrived. He always looked terrible. With dark circles under his eyes and a grey-ish tone to his skin, Hermione always wondered if it was his profession that made him that way, or the fact that he was just a very unpleasant person. She hoped it was the latter.

"Listen up, you bunch of newborn babies. I haven't got all day." He was accompanied by a stern-looking but beautiful woman with high cheekbones and raven black hair. "This is Miss Helena Fiddlesticks. She is a fellow Senior Auror, and she will be responsible for your orientation today." Ms. Fiddlesticks pursed her lips in clear frustration. "Follow her, listen to her and ask only necessary and relevant questions, alright?"

So they did all the following, listening and relevant questioning for most of the day. Miss Fiddlesticks wasn't much of a joy either, but Hermione had been so happy to see a female senior Auror she decided she didn't care much about it. She seemed competent and serious enough to earn Hermione's initial respect.

They had a full tour of the Ministry and its departments, which Hermione already knew too much about because of her extensive reading and in-person experiences. 

But during the tour, she was glad to see a few familiar faces. 

In the morning she had run into Luna Lovegood who was, of course, working at the Department of Mysteries. Merlin, if the girl's aloofness had made Hermione uneasy when they were in school together, now as an Unspeakable she just made her full-on anxious. 

Right after, Justin Finch-Fletchley ran up to her to say hello. He was an intern at the Department of Magical Transportation, and he seemed happy to see her. They hadn't been close at Hogwarts, but both being muggleborns, they had a sense of connection that only being Petrified by a Basilisk could give you.

She had lunch with Harry and Mr. Weasley, who was still working at the Ministry, albeit planning his retirement. Lunch was pleasant but quick, as Hermione had a very full schedule, and Harry had been in the field on a case. Ever since she had told him she would join him as his co-worker, their friendship suffered a bit. Mostly from her side, as she felt annoyed at his protectiveness. He had done what she asked, though, and had respected her choices, but she still could feel the worry in his eyes.

Eventually, the day came to an end with a general Auror assembly at the headquarters to mark the first day of this year's newcomers. As the Minister of Magic and an ex-Auror, Kingsley seemed to be very close to the department. He was the one to hold the meeting and address the whole force. There were roughly around fifty people all cramped up in an old Ministry auditorium.

"Welcome all newcomers! I hope your superiors and colleagues have been welcoming enough to you on this first day." He looked around the senior Aurors that stood behind him with a warning glance. "Certainly better than last year, when we had two dropouts on the first day. Kudos to you all for staying the first eight hours!" he said, motioning to Hermione's group as the rest of the force stifled a laugh. 

"Let's see how long until the first one quits!" came an unidentified voice from the more experienced junior Aurors group. The room erupted with more laughing. "Hey Golden Girl, can't get enough of Potter, can you?" another one yelled from the back. Hermione felt herself rolling her eyes and found Harry looking at her, pressing his lips with a tired, frustrated look on his face.

Sitting right at his side, she was startled to notice Draco Malfoy looking right at her. Immediately she was transported back to the day she was tortured by his aunt at his horrible family's home. A shudder came up her spine, her scar tingled with rage, and as she stared back at him, he quickly averted his eyes. 

The nerve of that prick to sit there and pretend he gave a crap about fighting crime and dark magic when he was the very definition of those things. Hermione breathed deeply, trying to restore her mind. She could not afford to lose her balance today. She focused on Kingsley's speech.

"It has been three years since Voldemort's death." The room went quiet with the mention of that name. "We all lost people in that war—maybe even ourselves. I'm not here to ask you all to be saints or angels—we know there is no such thing." She couldn't help exchanging a look with Katie. "But I am here to remind you, as I have done for the past three years, to never give up. Never give yourselves up. If you are here, it's because in some way you feel you can make a difference. Here's to hoping that this never leaves your sight."

"Geez, way to tense up the crowd," Katie whispered in Hermione's ear, which made her relax and even laugh a little as Kingsley said his thanks.

"Thank you, Minister. That was very… dark." McKinley, head of the department, took the stand and tried to lighten up the mood. "Anyway, welcome, our fresh baby Aurors! I hope you can all join us for the department's weekly happy hour at our favorite London Muggle pub, The Lamb & Flag, at eight o'clock this Friday. We have a special section there, and the passcode this week is Theseus Scamander." The crowd cheered in a way that you would only hear from male dominated spaces. Hermione felt her eyes roll again. "And that's it for today, you animals. See you all tomorrow for briefs at six."

**20th July, 2001**

Hermione's first week had flown by. She already felt more at ease at her new job. She had been assigned a shared desk with Katie, Neville and Seamus. As newbies, they were expected to do a lot of paperwork, get to know the ropes and spend some time in the department's gym to perfect their techniques while they waited to be approved or requested for on the field assignments. She actually quite liked the atmosphere at the Auror's Office, flowing energy and information all around them, never a quiet moment. For someone who had spent so much of her life in a library, this felt like a nice contrast—it soothed her busy mind better, for some reason.

She and Harry had hung out after work almost everyday that week. She had a million questions, and he was trying to help her with everything. He seemed to almost enjoy it, actually, being the one with the superior knowledge for once. 

Seeing each other more regularly had been rekindling the spark of their friendship, and Hermione was very happy about that. She understood Harry's worries about her, but now was time for both of them to move on.

That Friday, they were walking to the pub together, with Katie, Neville and Seamus following right behind.

"And how's Ron? Haven't seen him in a couple of weeks." Harry looked at her.

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to answer that. She actually didn't know the answer. They had both been working odd hours and long weekends for months now, Ron even more than her. So right now, they felt more like flatmates than boyfriend and girlfriend. Rarely seeing each other, leaving notes and leftovers around. 

And honestly, ever since she had started training, they had felt a bit distant. She became so consumed with being the best Auror she could be that their relationship had taken a toll. She couldn't even remember the last time they had sex… which was worrying, of course.

However, Hermione was sure things would eventually get back in sync between them. It always did.

"He's great. Just very busy with balancing the books. They’re even thinking about hiring help at the store, you know?" 

"He told me business was booming! Glad to hear it."

They arrived at the Muggle pub and followed suit into the back to a hidden cabinet beside the kitchen. The passageway opened for them as they used the passcode. Loud music and drunkenly cheers came out of it.

"I'll get us a round of firewhiskey shots and some butterbeers, okay?" Harry said, leaving the four of them at a side table as they took the place in.

Their secret section was very different from the rest of the Muggle pub. The ceiling was impossible high, with dark crystal chandeliers dropping into the crowd. Animated purple wallpaper filled with illustrations of magical creatures filled the walls around them. Smoky air filled their lungs as some wizards behind them worked on suspicious-looking Muggle cigarettes—they were apparently in a smoking zone.

"Wicked!" Seamus exclaimed as he pulled a cigarette of his own from his pocket and lit up. Thank Merlin, it didn't produce that horrible tobacco smell Hermione couldn't stand.

In a second, Harry came back with the drinks, and they all drank their firewhiskey shots. As Hermione wrinkled her nose, Katie elbowed her and nudged her to look at the side of the room.

"He even attends happy hours now. The bloody nerve." 

Hermione turned her head and saw Malfoy sitting at a table with two of his old Slytherin friends. She quickly saw red, as his face looked every bit the same arrogant expression he always carried around during their Hogwarts years. "Reformed Death Eater, my ass," Katie said a little too loudly.

"He really is different, you know," Harry chimed in with a heavy look in his eyes and was quickly on the receiving end of four very loaded glares.

"You're unbelievable, Harry." Seamus went off, "You spent seven bloody years hating the bloody ferret, telling anyone who would hear it he was a Death Eater. And now that everyone knows he was, you go and defend him."

"Yeah, sorry mate. I'm with Seamus. You lost me on that one. It seems like you forgot what he and his family did to you, to all of us at this table," Neville said in a calmer tone, but with a similar spark in his eyes.

Hermione stayed quiet. She’d already had that argument; she wasn't having it again. 

Harry knew something and he couldn't tell her; that was perfectly clear. And frankly, she wasn't much interested in whatever it was that made Malfoy so damn redeemable to her friend. She just wished she didn't have to see his damn face everyday for as long as he decided to keep up the Auror farce.

"I didn't forget. Of course not." Harry answered Neville as he nervously sipped his butterbeer. "I’ve just seen him from a different angle after the war, that's all. It changed us all; how can you expect him to not have changed as well?" 

"He almost killed me with a bloody cursed necklace, Harry. Actually, you guys might need to hold me back if I have a little too much to drink today. He won't be happy to find out I also know a curse or two," Katie bit out, obviously upset.

"Harry is not his friend, and he is not defending him. He's just telling us to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt… right?" Hermione went in his defence.

"Exactly! Thank you, Hermione!" 

"But that does not mean we need to give it. It's just Harry Potter's opinion, and he has been wrong on more than one occasion. I would know," she completed, looking at Harry with a semi apologetic look in her eyes. "He's the Chosen One, not the Right One."

They laughed, easing the tension. It was a strange sensation for Hermione, to make people laugh. She wasn't used to it. Harry seemed to give up. "I'll come back to this loving group in a second!"

Hermione observed her friend as he made the rounds with the Auror circles, all very happy to see him. He was clearly very high up for someone with just a year of experience in the force. Hermione suspected that he would soon be promoted, which made her smile. He had worked so hard to prove himself worthy of the job, to make sure nobody thought he was coasting on the war hero label. 

She loved that about him and knew they were the same in that way. They didn't want to be put in a box. 

\---

As the night went on, Hermione felt herself thinking about her bed. Neville and Seamus had been in a hushed argument about something they didn't want her to hear, Katie was flirting with the bartender and Harry had disappeared in the crowd. 

When it was close to midnight, she said goodbye to her friends and stepped out into the pleasant summer air. She had decided she would walk home when she heard her name called by the last voice she expected.

"Granger! Hold up." It was Malfoy.

He had followed her from inside the bar. She felt a quick impulse to grab at her wand. But she tried to remember the Ministry had discharged him and that Harry trusted him, so she might as well let him give her a reason before she hexed him.

"I expect you aren’t too happy to see me here, and I won't pretend to be happy to see you either," he said, as arrogant as ever. "I just wanted to offer my welcome and my regret about our history—especially that day at my family's home three years ago. I know it's a lot, but hopefully we can clear the air and move forward." 

Oh no, he did not get to do that.

"Excuse me?" she grittered out through her teeth. "You're sorry?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry my aunt… did what she did. It was horrible; if I could have done anyt-"

"There were so many things you could have done, Malfoy." She was seeing red again, and now there was no stopping. "You think that just because you're pretending to be an Auror, we are all going to buy into this bullshit?"

Without realising, she had pulled her wand and pointed it at him, walking threateningly in his direction.

"You have been a coward ever since we were little kids. I don't believe even for a second that you would be here if it wasn't the easiest way to save your own arse from Azkaban."

He looked at her wand and lifted his hands up, his expression unimpressed. He seemed to have been expecting that reaction.

"Even bloody turning your own parents in, you did. Yes, they are horrible people, but I'm pretty sure they are the only people that would love someone like you." 

As Hermione didn't even recognise herself saying such awful things—to an admittedly awful person—the look on Malfoy's face also showed her that she had struck a nerve.

"That's enough, Granger. You are entitled to not accept my apology, but don't start insulting me or my parents. You don't know half of what we've been through," he snarled at her with a very familiar scowl.

"You called me a mudblood for years, you prick!" She’d had enough. "I will insult you as much as I deem fit, and I don't care if your bloody feelings are hurt."

"I'm sorry I called you a mudblood. I was a stupid git. I didn't know better." 

His voice was so mechanical, she did not believe it for a second. And before she knew it, she transfigured a bucket of slimy brown ooze that was levitating on top of his blonde head. With a quick flick of her wand, it turned down upon him, leaving him brown and gooey from head to toe.

"Who's dirty now, you bloody twat? Save your redemption story for someone who actually has any interest in it."

Hermione expected him to be angry or even hex her back, but he just managed to clean himself while glaring at her and walked back into the bar with an exasperated huff. "Well, Granger. Here's hoping you can get your nerves in control. This job actually requires some level headedness, not just being friends with famous people. Have a bloody good night."

As he went back inside, she still felt enraged and slightly in shock at her reaction. She told herself he deserved it, but in the back of her mind, she kicked herself for losing control in front of him. She knew something inside her was unhinged, and maybe dealing with Draco Malfoy was the thing that would make it completely loose.

She just would have to keep her distance from him from now on. The department was big enough; how difficult would that be?


	4. The Pureblood Supremacist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of facing his demons in a confrontation with Hermione Granger leaves Draco feeling bitter.  
> And as things change in the Auror Department, he finally sees a silver lining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: @rhysenne is being an amazing beta for this fic and helping this ESL writer - thank you so much!

**25th August, 2001**

Blaise Zabini was an early riser and a morning person. He took extremely good care of his health and went to the gym five times a week in the morning. Everyday, as he got back home, he would also cook a full nutritional breakfast for him and Draco before taking a shower and grooming himself for the day while listening to top-of-the-charts radio at full volume.

Draco Malfoy was also an early riser, but mostly because he didn't sleep much. He’d had trouble sleeping ever since he was fifteen years old and had grown accustomed to four or five hours of sleep at most. Because of that, he was also most certainly not a morning person. He spent his mornings angrily turning the pages to the day's _Daily Prophet_ or to his latest book of choice, usually about potions, in the living room. And while Blaise made eggs, pancakes and fruit salad for them every morning, Draco never had anything more than black coffee with toast before rushing off to work.

Although unbalanced, the two friends had found a steady little routine that fit both of them. But over the last couple of weeks, Zabini could tell something was bothering Draco even more than his usual moaning angsty self. 

It started with Draco burning his toast three days in a row and cursing after birds chirping outside his window. But it was finally enough the day Zabini got out the bathroom and found their living room sofa on fire. Draco had gotten angry at a newspaper article about his family and had Incendio'd it in a fit of frustrated rage.

**_“Malfoys’ Trial Approaches! Will the Sinister Couple Finally Be Sentenced to the Kiss?” by Rita Skeeter_ **

Yes, awful. But there was an article like that almost every week, so Blaise knew this was about something else.

"As much of a joy as you usually are, Malfoy, there is something wrong with you." 

"No shit, Sherlock! Maybe you haven't noticed that my life's a goddamn mess." 

"Yeah, yeah, enough of the pity party. There is something specific bothering you. You can tell me about it, or not—I would just like the flat to survive it okay?"

"You're not my bloody father, Zabini. Leave me alone," Draco huffed and slammed the door behind him. 

So mature.

"That's correct; I am not anyone's father." Although it bloody did feel like it sometimes. "So deal with this little hissy fit, or we're going to have a real conversation, young man." He yelled from the door and left for work whistling.

* * *

From inside his room, Draco mentally kicked himself. He knew he was being childish and ridiculous. If he was in Blaise's place, he would not have been so patient. And he was right; Draco had been in a foul mood. If he was being honest, he was probably on the verge of some sort of breaking point. He wasn't quite sure why, but it had started ever since that night at the Lamb and Flag pub, after he had tried to apologize to Hermione Granger.

The trouble began with the very idea of apologising. And it got worse, as it was to Hermione Granger of all people. 

Draco liked to think of himself as having evolved from the whole pureblood supremacy crap. He genuinely had never understood how ridiculous it all was. As a kid, he just really liked the idea that being rich and from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family made him rightfully better than other people. 

When he got to Hogwarts and someone like Harry Potter didn't respect him, he got angry. And when someone like Hermione Granger was labeled the brightest witch of her age—of his age—he got angrier. That was not what was supposed to happen. Blood purity should matter; his whole life had been based on it. So he hated them for being popular and brave and for never being afraid of him, as much as he tried to throw his weight around the whole bloody school.

Right until he was marked with the tattoo of a lunatic's army on his forearm, he never realised that his anger against Muggleborns didn't come from actual hate. He didn't care about blood purity or power. He was just in constant fear: of not being as perfect as his parents expected; of people finding out he was just a momma's boy with not much to offer other than his money and his looks. 

The war had also put everything into perspective. The ghastly scenes that he had witnessed, the blood and screams that filled his nightmares every night since. Standing by and seeing his parents become shells of themselves. And all for a pointless idea, an irrational superiority complex. Who the fuck cared if someone had Muggle parents? Voldemort himself was half-blood. The whole thing was just dumb. 

And now, Draco just wanted to have a regular life. To try to have a notion of a future that didn't carry the weight of the horrible choices that were made for him.

But to other people, "good" people, it was kind of too late for a crisis of conscience from him. He knew that. And now, a group of Gryffindors who probably hated him most in the world was going to work with him. 

He thought back at how he had always picked Longbottom as an easy target to bully, making his life miserable at Hogwarts. Plus, he had almost killed Katie Bell with a bad curse in a botched-up attempt at murdering their Headmaster. So it was safe to say those two weren't fans.

And Hermione Granger, the girl he’d repeatedly called a "filthy mudblood" and hexed over their formative years. The girl who had slapped him over a stupid bird's death. The woman whom his aunt had physically tortured at the floor of his drawing room as he just stood around and watched her blood stain his mother's carpet. The most self-righteous person he knew.

Yeah, she would be the bloody worst.

But he definitely did not plan to apologise. That was all Harry Potter acting as his fairy godmother or something. Ever since Scarhead got off his case about being at Auror training, they’d actually worked together on several occasions, and a reluctant respect grew between them. 

Working together with a common goal and having known each other for most of their lives brought a sense of familiarity to Draco. Soon, he had no anger in him when he finally admitted to himself that Harry Potter was a very smart and reliable wizard to have as a partner.

Potter had even approached Draco about his parents’ trial, giving him information he'd gotten through the Ministry grapevine. Apparently, the Wizengamot had a whole song-and-dance planned to make an example of his father, and Draco should brace himself for maximum penalty. His mother's fate was a little more unclear.

Harry Potter was pretty much the only person in the Ministry treating him like an actual human being, and Draco couldn't really afford to shut him out.

So, when they were working on a case at the Aurors’ Potions laboratory one day and Finnegan and Longbottom walked past them greeting Harry and glaring at him, his enemy-turned-coworker actually gave him advice.

"Malfoy, I just wanted you to know that I can see you are trying to fit in, do your work, be civil to us," Harry said, as Draco looked up from his work and lifted his brows in question. 

"And maybe… maybe if you told people how awful you felt about the war, how scared I know you were about everything, maybe they might be more willing to give you a chance." The struggle he felt to say those words was visible in his face; he wasn't enjoying this any more than Draco was.

"What the fuck, Potter? Did I hire you as my bloody therapist and forget about it?" he said, half wanting to soften the mood with their usual banter.

"I'm just saying—we were all just kids. If you actually start showing some humanity… people might respond."

Draco fidgeted with the materials and pretended to be distracted with the work.

"Oh piss off, will you? I don't need your soft Gryffindor advice. I can handle it."

He couldn't handle it.

"Just… think about it, will you?" Potter sighed and kept on working, clearly relieved to be finished with the almost-friendly conversation.

And he did think about it. A lot.

He couldn't bear to start a new cycle of being the ex-Death Eater pureblood supremacist everyone hated; it was eating away his sanity. It had been for two years. He didn't care that he wasn't liked, but he just needed to not be in the spotlight like a pariah _for once_. He just needed everything to be easier for him, at least for a while.

And that's how he got himself on the sidewalk of that pub, screwing up an apology to Hermione Granger. 

He winced to himself as he remembered how she’d looked at him. She had also changed with the war; he had noticed ever since she started at the Ministry. She had an anger in her eyes, a stiffness to her brown that she didn't have in Hogwarts. 

It was summer, and she wore short sleeves. If you didn't look for it, you might have missed it, but Draco saw it instantly. The _'mudblood'_ scar. He wondered if his aunt had poisoned the knife or something, for Hermione to not have gotten rid of it.

If he could feel anything, maybe he would feel a regret for what she went through that day. Maybe he would feel responsible for allowing the bright sparkle she had in eyes as a little girl to fade away. The sparkle that used to annoy him like crazy every time her hand flew up in the air during classes when she knew the right answer—and she always knew the right answer.

But alas, he did not feel anything.

So he tried to apologise. Arguably, he could have done a better job at it, out of a more genuine place than just pure self-preservation. But that wasn’t him.

And boy did it blow up in his face most spectacularly. In the form of a transfigured mud bucket turned over his head, no less.

He’d honestly expected more nobility from the fucking Gryffindor princess. Maybe a heated telling-off and storming out into the streets. But she had attacked him, attacked his parents and hexed him in the middle of a Muggle street. She wasn't wrong on what she said. But that didn't mean he hated her any less for it.

After that, he gave up on the apology tour before it had even begun. He would leave the righteousness and regrets to bloody Harry Potter. He was better at the quietly-sulking-in-corners part. 

And Granger's influence on the department and on Harry himself was exactly what he had feared. For weeks now, she had constantly and publicly questioned his motives and brought his past mistakes to attention in front of their coworkers. Every case he was assigned, she asked their seniors if they didn't think Draco needed a supervisor because of his probation-like situation.

He told himself he didn't care, but he did. It almost seemed like something she was doing out of spite after their exchange. It was almost as if he had called even more attention to himself after speaking to her. If he didn't know better, he would say she was on a vengeful mission against him. 

Oh fuck—she was, wasn't she?

So now he spent his days fuming in constant anger and frustration. Setting things on fire in his living room because he didn't know what else to do. Feeling completely powerless against a bloody mud— _Muggleborn_. (Damn it, old habits.)

The night of the "fire" had been the last drop. He was leaving the office late after working overtime in the laboratory when he overheard Granger and Bell talking about him.

"I still can't believe he tried to apologise to you." Bell's laugh rang through the empty main office.

"Really, Katie, you should have been there. After everything, of course Draco Malfoy would expect sympathy to be handed over to him on a silver platter. Just like everything in his life." Granger's voice sounded unlike herself, full of pettiness. Maybe the girl had more Slytherin in her than he’d thought.

"The man was a bloody Death Eater! He still has the Mark! I can't believe he managed to wiggle his way out of Azkaban and people still buy the reformed bad boy story."

"I love Harry, but honestly, I think he is mad to trust Malfoy's words. The man's a pureblood supremacist and always will be. Snakes like him don’t change; they just slither away and hide."

Overhearing things like that wasn’t new for him. Heck, the whole wizarding world would probably agree with the two of them to his face if they had the chance. But the fact that he had made an effort with that bint and she was humiliating him for it… that did something to him.

He struggled to get himself quietly out the door without being noticed. On his way home, he was almost smiling to himself. Because for the first time in a long time, he felt like his cold, calculating, conniving Slytherin self again.

He finally had a purpose, a goal. 

He was going to prove Hermione Granger wrong if it was the last thing he ever did.

**30th August, 2001**

And it wasn't long until Draco's luck started to change and the Gods seemed to be in his favor. Fucking finally, if you asked him. 

It started one day when the whole department had been called to another general assembly. 

"Before we start, a formal request from the Magical Creatures department has been brought to my attention. They request that all vampire-related incidents are to be filed under their jurisdiction when putting forward the arrest reports or aid requests." Stuart McKinley made the announcements in a bored tone as all of the Auror department took their seats filling the Auditorium. 

He was a funny-looking man, McKinley. He was short and heavy with a very small nose and smart eyes. He had a long moustache that made him look very much like a sea lion. Unlike the team of senior Aurors who answered to him, he was characteristically unthreatening both physically and in his demeanour. 

"And now with the good news!" McKinley's belly seemed to bobble with enthusiasm. "Firstly, I am happy to announce some great news. Really spectacular news! It's my pleasure to tell you that none other than our own Mr. Harry Potter will be promoted to youngest Junior Auror Supervisor in Ministry history!" 

As the room erupted with claps and cheers, Draco slowly clapped and sighed, already having overheard from Potter himself. It appeared he had been destined to live his life watching Harry Potter best him in every possible way. Oh well, what else was new?

Potter stood up and waved to the crowd in the awkward way he did to pretend that he was humbled and surprised. Nobody was surprised. He was the most beloved man in all of England's wizarding world and actually a pretty decent junior Auror so far.

"Mr. Potter will coordinate all junior Aurors’ activities and schedules. It's a big responsibility, and from what I’ve heard, he already has a project to announce." He gestured for Harry to address the room as he approached the stage.

"Er, hi. Can't believe this. Wow! Thank you, Mr. MicKinley, I am very honored." Ah, Potter. Always so bloody pedestrian.

"Okay so, very happy with the news. Hope I can be of service to all my fellow junior Aurors!" He smiled awkwardly. "I also already have a proposition for us to have a little healthy competition between co-workers." 

"I will be launching a scoreboard of solved cases for all the junior Aurors—those of you with three years of experience or less at the force." As Harry announced, he materialised the board above them with a flick of his wand. Draco saw his name together with his colleague's. "We will hang it up in the main office to keep track of everyone's performance and highlight rising stars." 

Harry Potter was a genius. That was exactly what Draco needed to destroy Hermione Granger and her little squad of Gryffinlosers. They would absolutely hate to lose to him, the big bad former Death Eater.

"But remember, only complete and formalized closed cases will be accounted for. And there may or may not be a special prize involved for the best performance by the end of the year." Potter winked at the crowd, and they went wild again.

He looked at Granger from across the room and saw that familiar sparkle in her eyes as she stared up on the board and smiled at her friends. Draco snorted. Fortunately, it seemed she was still as predictable as ever. Perfect.

"Good luck to you all!" 

And for the first time in more than six years, Draco Malfoy was _giddy_. 

As Draco got through his front door that night, he was greeted by smoke and the smell of firewhiskey. He had forgotten it was Wednesday, poker night.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns." Zabini blew out the words together with the cigar smoke.

"How was another day playing hero beside Harry Potter, dear?" Daphne asked as she rearranged her cards and looked up at him from the poker table.

"Why, thank you for asking, Daph." Draco replied cheerfully as he got his jacket off and closed the door.

"It was great. Made some brilliant findings for a case."

There was a beat as they all stared at him.

"Oh, how precious, he thinks he fools us." Nott laughed, moving from the kitchen while bringing a new bottle to the table. "We know you don't give two shits about those cases, Draco."

"It's okay, Drake, you're in a safe space." Blaise said, mockingly gesturing between all of them.

"No, I don't give two shits." He took a seat at the table as they handed him his cards. "But I do care about being useful and successful. Maybe you should try it sometime, Nott." He gave his friend a malicious smirk. 

"And maybe you should try showering, Malfoy." Blaise and Daphne cackled. "When was the last time you took a look in the bloody mirror?" Theo pointed at their living room mirror. Draco instinctively looked at himself from his seat. 

It was true; he had stopped taking care of himself. His hair had gotten greasy, and he had a very apparent stubble by the end of long days at the Ministry. The clothes he could afford were frequently wrinkled—not that magic couldn't solve that problem. He just had forgotten to give a shit about how he looked.

"So what's the ante?" 

As they made their initial bets, Draco was still looking at himself in the mirror. His 'getting back at Granger' plan had given him a confidence boost. Maybe, if he was going to be the best performing junior Auror in the department, he should start making an effort about his appearance again. Merlin knew Zabini had enough clothes for the both of them.

"Hey, guess who got a job!" Daphne belted as she folded.

"Ah, a riddle regarding employment. How exciting," Zabini mocked as he still worked on his cuban.

"It can't be anyone we know; our friends are all either filthy rich or locked up in Azkaban," Theo added matter-of-factly. 

"Astoria! She's the new assistant editor for the _Daily Prophet;_ she's working with Skeeter." Daphne rejoiced. At the mention of the journalist, Draco felt his chest heavier.

From Blaise: "Well, fucking finally. That girl needs an occupation. If you ask me, I was beginning to see a few screws loosening off." 

"Oh hush, that's my sister you're talking about, Blaise."

"Daph, hon, don't pretend you don't notice when she starts mumbling out of the blue." Daphne frowned a bit and glared at her friend. "Lovely girl, though."

"Was going to ask why you never bring her, but perhaps maybe you shouldn't then. We have enough crazy to go around." Draco pointed at Theo with a wicked grin as he upped the bet by throwing more chips at the table.

"You're one to talk, prince of darkness. Has your couch fully recovered from its attempted murder?" Nott put chips in, calling Draco's bet.

"Bite me, Nott." Draco rolled his eyes. "But in all seriousness, Daph. Skeeter is lower than scum; couldn't she get a job with a more respectful journalist?"

"Times are tough for pureblooded Slytherins in the wizarding world nowadays, Drake. As I'm sure you are aware." 

"Is that why you and Zabini are hiding away at a Muggle financial firm?" Draco couldn't hold back his laugh. 

"Are you two ever going to tell us what you do all day? It's not like you know anything about Muggle money." Theo laughed along.

"It's not important. You know what's important?" Blaise said, putting off his cigar and showing off his card. "I won."

It was just another poker night, nothing out of the ordinary.

But Draco went to sleep feeling something different. He dreamed of blue skies, willow trees, stormy beaches and snake eyes. As he woke up the next morning, he shivered and felt like the winds were changing. And maybe this time, it was in his favor.

And boy, was he right. 

Maybe. 

It depends on who you ask.


	5. The Golden Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Draco and Hermione get competitive, they end up having to work alongside each other in a new case.

**October 15th, 2001** ****

It had been three months since Hermione started at the Ministry as a promising Junior Auror, following in the footsteps of her best friend and war hero Harry Potter, who was now the youngest Auror Supervisor in Ministry history. 

And everything was going just fine for her. 

Yes, she was being assigned much fewer cases than she had originally expected, but that was normal for the so-called baby Aurors. 

She knew she had to put in the time as a paper-pusher and researcher for the department. To prove herself to her superiors—and then things would fall into place. 

Hermione had graduated from Auror training at the top of her class. Before that, she had fought and won an actual war. 

Things were bound to feel a little boring eventually, she told herself. It was all perfectly normal.

Except for the fact that whenever she spent long periods of time without any action, her Mudblood scar would start to itch. And in the back of her mind, Bellatrix's shrill laugh would come to life, bringing shudders through her body.

The worst part was that she would feel like that for days, sometimes even weeks. Her "low points," she called them. 

Whenever she hit one of those, she felt so unlike herself, so uneasy in her own body, that she needed to find little escapes. It usually would be intense training sessions with Ron, Katie or Harry, which took the steam right off. 

But lately, with Ron so occupied with the shop and her friends absorbed in their love lives, whenever she found herself without a dueling partner she would resort to indulging in less healthy habits, mainly wine bottles. One or two by herself before going to bed usually did the trick. 

Yeah, that part was definitely not normal. But with her potions knowledge, she could prevent any side effects to her body. She had everything under control.

As she arrived at the Ministry that Monday morning with just a slight headache, she reminded herself she was far from the only one with baggage. Her friends, coworkers, bosses also went through the war. They were all in the same boat, patching things up as best they could.

She just had to keep some balance in her life, and everything would be fine. 

This gave her a warmth in her heart that instantly froze over as her eyes rested on Draco Malfoy's face on the top of the scoreboard for Junior Aurors. He was now ten points ahead of her second place. The guy who still had a Dark Mark on his arm. Utter. Rubbish.

"I think he's sleeping with Fiddlesticks. There's no other possible explanation." Katie's annoyance echoed her own as she joined her in front of the board, coffee in hand.

As she opened her mouth to answer her friend, Malfoy walked past the two of them in a cloud of horrible perfume and superiority. With an insufferable smirk on his face, he gloated at them. "Don't look so sad, ladies. You can still try to beat me—not that it will make a difference."

"Ah piss off, Ferret! We know you're cheating, we just need to find out how," Katie answered in a perfect mocking tone.

Malfoy did not flinch one muscle of his smirk and just gave a short laugh as he looked them up and down. "Gryffindors are always the sorest losers," he sang as he turned his back to them and kept walking to his table. "Told you being best friends with Potter couldn't get you everything, Granger." As he yelled that over his shoulder, she heard some stifled laughter from around the room.

This git.

"Oh, bite me, Malfoy!" Hermione answered a little too loudly, and in a beat the whole department was gaping at her. What? Oh, they were surprised she was cursing. The Golden Girl. The War Heroine. Hermione rolled her eyes. Bloody hypocrites.

As the chatter and noise around them came back, her vision went tunnel: all she could see was Malfoy's satisfied grin aimed at her, and all she could hear was that shrill laugh echoing in her ears.

"Hermione, do you know what time of the year it is?" Katie half whispered, pulling her out of her haze.

"It's Autumn."

"No, it's hunting sexy snakes season." A chill went up Hermione's spine.

"Bloody hell, Katie. Is there Firewhiskey in that coffee?" It would always surprise her how quickly Katie turned things sexual. Not that it wasn't funny, most of the time. 

But this time it was just wrong.

"Oh, please—like you can't see it as well?" Katie answered with a relaxed laugh, "We Gryffindors have great moral compasses, but that doesn't mean we're blind." 

"But how can you say this about him? After what he did to you in sixth year?"

Katie frowned, confused for a second. Hermione already knew this was going nowhere; Katie avoided serious conversations like Dragon Pox. "Take a Chill Pill, Hermione. Admitting someone is attractive is not the same as exonerating them of their sins."

As her friend sighed at her and walked over to their table, Hermione felt ill to her stomach. Katie was clearly in denial of her trauma if she could say that Draco Malfoy was "sexy."

It was true he had been looking… different over the past couple of months. Much healthier than he had looked in a long time. It was like he finally remembered how to shower and had actually started getting some hours of sleep. But she would never think of Draco Malfoy as attractive; that was completely unimaginable.

She felt her scar tingle again.

No, he would always be just the same conniving, cowardly, evil little shit that she had met when they were eleven and that had managed to turn himself into a Death Eater.

"Lost something, Granger? Don't you have work to do?" the prick in question shouted at her from his table where she had been rage-staring at him for too long now. In the last five minutes, he had gone from looking triumphant to being clearly creeped out by her. 

Good. 

She followed Katie to their desk to focus on their new mission. It was time to take that first place back and shove it in that smug fucker's face.

The system for Harry's scoreboard worked very similarly to Hogwarts House Points. The winnings were assigned by their superiors arbitrarily, but also magically given to them every time they finished assignments. Obviously, solving cases was the guaranteed way to gain the most points—and the harder the case, the higher the points.

"We need new cases. Right. Now."

"I heard from Seamus that Proudfoot's got one and needs a couple of Junior Aurors to help," Katie offered from her chair.

"Perfect, I'm going to ask him right now. Coming?" 

"Sorry, love. Already working on that smuggled Scottish Mandrake case with Longbottom." Her friend gave her a pat on the shoulder. "We're right in the middle of it; can't leave him stranded now." 

Fine. Hermione would try to get the case for herself. How difficult could it be? She was the best-performing Junior Auror in the department—momentarily second-best if you counted Harry's stupid scoreboard, and she did not.

From her place, she saw Louis Proudfoot moving around with other senior staff on the upper level of the department. He was a very thin and very tall, dark-skinned man and always had a look on his face like he wished he was somewhere else.

She lost no time as she caught up to him. "Excuse me, sir! It has come to my attention that you are looking for assistance in a case, and I wanted to offer my services."

"Well, good morning to you too, Granger." He kept walking, reading the paper memos flying around him. Hermione followed him. "You mean the Borgin and Burkes case? It's fine, Malfoy's already helping me out."

Damn it.

"I don't mean to question your authority, sir. But perhaps as a force we shouldn't rely so much on Mr. Malfoy just yet. He is still transitioning into a life without crime or dark magic, after all. Can't put too much on his plate." 

Proudfoot gave a short laugh. "How very Slytherin of you, Miss Granger."

He stopped in his heels for a second to look at her.

"But I'm afraid that Mr. Borgin personally asked for Malfoy's assistance on this one."

Of course. That was how Malfoy was managing to outperform her and all the others. He was using his connections with criminals and Dark Wizards to gather inside information on the actual cases.

Hermione wouldn't be surprised if he was going as far as plotting these crimes in the first place, then swooping in later as the big hero with all the answers. 

That was the only possible explanation for why he was winning. 

Absolutely no other reason made any sense.

"I'm sorry, sir. I might have missed a memo—but since when does the DMLE allow morally dubious civilians to tell us how to do our jobs?" She winced internally at her insubordination, but it was stronger than her, the need to be right. And she knew she was right. This was absurd.

Proudfoot's patience had clearly come to an end. Breathing heavily, he turned his memos into ash around him and glared at her. 

"Fine, Granger. You're welcome to help with this case as well. We'll be leaving in thirty to speak to Mr. Borgin himself."

"As well? You mean Malfoy will stay on the case?" 

"May the best annoying overachiever win!" he yelled as he walked away.

Oh, bloody hell. If that wasn't the definition of a backfire, she didn't know what it was.

Well, she was a professional, and nothing was going to stay in the way of her doing her job.

Plus, it gave her a chance to keep an eye on Malfoy.

Everything would be fine.

And maybe one cup of coffee would help as well. Or three.

* * *

Twenty-eight minutes later, she turned the corner of the hallway to Proudfoot's office and heard Malfoy's voice.

"Sir, I'm not going to beg you to take me off this case. However, I will ask you. Very strongly." 

"We need you, Malfoy. Your relationship with Mr. Borgin is most valuable to us, and your track record with theft cases has been remarkable. I'm sure any differences with—"

Hermione grunted slightly to indicate her presence.

"Ah, Miss Granger, there you are. Are you two ready?"

"Always, sir," she heard herself answer. Malfoy rolled his eyes and huffed, "Ready." 

They Apparated just outside number 13B at Knockturn Alley. 

Although it was still morning, the sky was specially grey and dark, and it felt like it might rain at any moment. Very fitting, but also very London.

As they entered Borgin and Burkes, there was no one else in sight amongst the huge clutter of creepy objects. Hermione's nostrils flared, and her skin prickled. She could feel the dark magic all around her. That, combined with the high levels of caffeine in her blood, made her extremely aware of her surroundings. 

So when Mr. Borgin's clunky figure appeared out of nowhere, Hermione jumped slightly. Malfoy immediately snorted, and she glared daggers at him.

"Mr. Malfoy, my old friend. How pleased I am to see you here again so soon." He took Draco's hands in his. Everything about this man seemed oily.

"Greetings, Borgin," Draco responded curtly. 

After a beat, Proudfoot stepped in. "Mr. Borgin. I am Senior Auror Louis Proudfoot. These are Junior Aurors Draco Malfoy—whom you know and Miss Hermione Granger." 

Hermione quickly felt Borgin's leer on her.

"We are here on behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Ministry of Magic. I believe you reported a theft?"

"Oh, Potter's girl? What a beauty you have become." Borgin ignored Proudfoot and addressed her while lowering his body and reaching out for her hand to kiss.

"Ah, bloody hell," she heard Proudfoot whisper, mostly to himself, as Hermione dodged the creepy gesture.

"My name is Hermione Granger and I will ask you to keep your hands to yourself, sir."

"Tell us about the theft, Borgin. We haven't got all day," Malfoy hissed, seemingly bored. "After we're done, you can keep courting Miss Granger. I do believe she would make a fine Mrs. Borgin." He said that with a wink at her, and Hermione started to assess how many ways she could hex him without Proudfoot noticing.

"Oh, alright. Well, I will ask you three to follow me inside." He motioned for them to walk behind him towards the darkest part of the store. "The thief stole it from my private chambers, you see."

"And what is the 'it' that you are referring to, sir?"

"A most dangerous artefact. I would not have called the Ministry if it wasn't the case, you see." Borgin walked in front of them, closing doors, curtains and cabinets with waves of his wand.

"Yes, we figured as much."

The four of them reached Borgin's private study. 

It was apparent that the whole room had been sacked. But the rest of the room paled in comparison to the state of a big brown cupboard in the back wall. It had been completely blown up at its center, where a black hole was still letting off some smoke.

"Well, it seems the thief knew what he was looking for." Proudfoot took the lead by examining the cupboard and casting magic revealing spells. "Hm, can't be sure. But it looks like he used a lightning hex."

"I agree, sir. The physical impact is fitting," Hermione promptly chimed in as she started analysing the wards around the room. Not the best she had seen, but it was clear someone powerful had broken in to get through them.

"Borgin, are you going to tell us what it was, or are you expecting us to guess?" Malfoy's grave tone seemed to surprise even Proudfoot.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Funny you should ask, as you are most familiar with its sister." The three aurors glanced around, confused. "The thief took the last known set of the world-famous Oglethorpe Opal Necklaces. The last of which I happen to have sold to you, my Lord." 

Malfoy went immediately pale. Well, paler.

Hermione froze as well. He was talking about the necklace. The one that Draco Malfoy bought at this store five years ago. The one intended to kill Albus Dumbledore. The one that almost killed Katie Bell. One of the most dangerous artefacts in the world.

And it apparently had a sister? And Malfoy was the Auror requested to investigate its disappearance?

This couldn't be a coincidence.

"Those necklaces are an extremely unstable source of dark magic. Mr. Borgin, you shouldn't have had it in your possession. That kind of magic is forbidden by law." Proudfoot looked at the store owner sternly.

"Yes, well. I was hoping my cooperation in signaling its theft would grant me some leniency from the Ministry, good sir."

"We'll see. Now excuse me, I must warn Shacklebolt this instant." He stepped outside to send a communicating Patronus back to the Ministry.

Hermione looked at Malfoy. He seemed withdrawn and had a morose expression on his face. She looked around. Something about this didn't fit as a simple theft. "Mr. Borgin, why was the necklace kept in here? Was it your personal property?" 

Borgin sighed and fidgeted with his hands. "No, my pet. It was reserved for a special buyer."

"Who?"

He gave Malfoy a nervous glance. "Mr. Theodore No—"

"Theodore Nott is dead." Malfoy cut in with a menacing tone.

"Yes, but Theodore Nott Junior is not." He finished with a grim smirk.

In a blink of an eye, Mafoy had Borgin pushed up against the wall holding him by his throat. "You lying bastard, who put you up to this?"

The awkward man seemed even skimpier and greasier so close to Malfoy's tall and lean figure. "I'm not l-lying, sir. Your friend Theodore made a special order for me to find it. I had it brought out from a supplier in Romania. It—it wasn't easy to find, either." 

"Let him go, Malfoy." Hermione took her wand out of her holster. "Now."

"Of course you would be here for this, Granger." Malfoy let Borgin go and turned at her. His eyes darkened with rage as he looked at her wand pointed at him. "You are just itching to find a reason to get rid of me, aren't you?"

"That's not exactly a lie, but I would never condone any coworker of mine to threaten a civilian while giving a statement."

In that moment Proudfoot reemerged from the corridor and looked between the two of them. "What the bloody hell is happening here?" 

"Sir, it appears we have a person of interest for this case," Hermione answered coolly. "According to Borgin, Mr. Theodore Nott Jr. ordered the necklace before it was stolen. With your permission I would like to interrogate him—"

"Absolutely not. Sir, we still have yet to gather evidence on these claims."

"I'm afraid Mr. Malfoy is too close to this to be impartial. His friend is involved, and he has personal history with this specific type of cursed artefact," Hermione finished, feeling just slightly guilty for being so "snitch-y."

"Yes, well—" Proudfood sighed and looked sternly at Malfoy. "Come with me, boy. Let's talk this over at this Ministry, shall we? Granger, will you finish taking Mr. Borgin's statement and report to me directly after?"

"Of course, Sir."

With a final glare from Malfoy, they left, and Hermione finished gathering all the information the now-stuttering Mr. Borgin could give her. 

The only evidence of the involvement of Theo Nott was his signature on a piece of paper, which Hermione tried to verify with a spell, but it did not warrant consistent results. Regardless, she had enough grounds to request a formal questioning from her former classmate.

"Is there anyone else that might've had their eyes on this necklace, Mr. Borgin?"

"Dark Arts smugglers. A piece like that is priceless if you've got a good buyer, Miss." 

"And who might that be?" Hermione felt like she already knew the answer.

"I would talk to Mundungus Fletcher if I were you."

Following procedure, Hermione performed a few final spells to record any magical signatures and activities in the room—not expecting to find much, as experienced thieves didn't leave much. 

Except when she cast one final revealing charm, a big skull with a snake for a tongue materialized amongst the still-ongoing smoke from the cabinet. A very clear use of the Morsmordre used by Voldemort followers as a calling card.

So the suspect was be a Death Eater. That was... weirdly fast. 

She said her goodbyes to Borgin—while still swerving from any physical contact—and decided to walk back to the office to gather her thoughts and contain her excitement. 

This was the most interesting case she had been assigned so far. Hopefully Proudfoot would have the sense to take Malfoy off it... 

"Excuse me! Are you Miss Hermione Granger, the Auror?" She heard a feminine voice behind her while still leaving Knockturn Alley. A tall and very thin-framed girl approached her. There was something delicate yet still very lively about her.

"Yes, I am. I'm sorry, have we met?" 

"Oh no, we haven't! I mean, you were a couple of years ahead of me at Hogwarts, and you are the famous Hermione Granger..." She smiled shyly. "But forgive me—I work for the  _ Daily Prophet _ and I'm working on a piece about the stolen necklace." She gave out her card.

Ah bollocks, Skeeter was multiplying. Hermione accepted the card with regret in her stomach for not Apparating straight to the Ministry. 

"I'm sorry, I can't disclose any information so soon."

"Yes, of course. I understand. We just believe it's important to alert the public about the necklace's dangers, wouldn't you agree?"

That actually made some sense.

"Perhaps it would be wise to warn people of its appearance, yes." Hermione heard herself agreeing before she could think twice.

"Perfect, I will visit your office by the end of the week to get any information you can spare me. That way we can print it for next week's edition." 

"O-Okay. Sure." Hermione was slightly annoyed, but felt herself smiling at the younger woman's straightforwardness. 

"Thank you so much for your time, Miss Granger! Nice to have officially met you."

Both women smiled at each other as they walked away, and Hermione glanced at the card in her hand. 

> Astoria Greengrass
> 
> Assistant Editor for the  _ Daily Prophet _

"Nice to meet you too, Miss Greengrass."

Daphne Greengrass's sister. Of course that girl was a Slytherin.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
> 
> Special thanks to my wonderful beta @rhysenne


End file.
